Her court was pure, her life serene; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed.
A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
Better not be at all than not be noble.
The old order changes yielding place to new.
I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.